The Best Defense
by RochelleRene
Summary: Damn, do we need to pretend "Bombshells" never happened!  Here is my attempt at denial.  House goes all Papa Bear in defense of Rachel and Cuddy. Lovey smutty Huddy. & I don't own these characters or they wouldn't have been utterly destroyed this season.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

House came quietly into the house and found just what he expected. It was Sunday afternoon and Cuddy was asleep on the couch, the baby monitor letting out a soft whoosh of white noise on the coffee table next to her. It had taken him months, but he'd finally convinced her to take Sundays totally "off," not making herself work during every spare moment, which included Rachel's naps. He looked at her for a moment, lying there in a faded tee shirt and yoga pants, her bare feet tucked under a pillow. Then he kicked off his shoes and, with some clumsiness to favor his leg, snaked into the space between her and the couch's back, resting his hand on her hip and smelling her hair.

Cuddy stirred a bit, nestling back against him, and mumbled, "I thought you have a patient."

"I'm waiting on labs," he murmured back. His palm pressed against her stomach and his fingers tickled her skin. "And my brain still functions outside of the hospital walls, you know."

Cuddy smiled and rolled back a bit, grinding her hips against his. "Not if all your blood rushes to other body parts," she teased.

"Not a problem," he asserted, pushing right back. "My hands and feet just fall asleep." She grinned as he nibbled her earlobe. His hand slid down the side of her waist and pushed under the waistband of her pants to grip her hip.

"There's nothing hotter," Cuddy began, rolling over to face him, "Than sex with a man who is thinking about rare infectious diseases the whole time."

House stared at her. "Your eyes are the color of healthy brain matter," he murmured in a mock seductive voice.

Cuddy laughed. "You should write sonnets," she told him. He kissed her gently, leisurely. After a minute, she asked, "Do you ever wish we could have sex without all the banter preceding it?" her words muffled against his lips.

"Nope," he said matter-of-factly as he began kissing her jaw line.

She laughed softly, moving her hands to the back of his head. She felt his stubble sliding along the most sensitive parts of her neck and his hands sliding up the back of her tee shirt, one set of fingers deftly unclasping her bra while his other hand tickled up and down her spine. Her breath came out in a shaky exhalation as one of his hands glided over her ribs and found her breasts. He was both insistent and relaxed - running his fingers over her nipples in ways he knew drove her insane, but taking his time smelling her skin and peppering her neck and chin and mouth with slow kisses.

Returning the affection, Cuddy's hands drifted down his body. She snaked one up under his shirt, sliding her palm along his stomach. With her other she pushed against his groin through his jeans, causing House to inhale sharply. Cuddy smiled and undid his pants, weaving her fingers in to tease him. His quiet groan encouraged her and she began sliding his jeans down.

"Man, right to business," he joked. "Shirt still on. You just need my manhood and that's it?" he teased. He pulled back and looked at her with a mock pout. "I remember how you used to touch me," he said in fake whiny high-pitched voice.

"Like this?" she asked, fondling him without hesitation. House closed his eyes and his head lolled back against the couch.

"Uh-huh," was all he managed to sigh out. She pushed her pelvis against his, though her yoga pants were still separating them. House's hand suddenly pressed hard against her ass, pulling her to him. God, he wanted her. He was all for foreplay, but something was also unbelievably sexy about Cuddy when she wanted to skip right to the important part.

Cuddy shifted and pushed against his shoulders, rolling him onto his back and climbing on top of him. "Tell me about the patient," she said in her most boss-like voice. Then she bent her head and started kissing his stomach, one hand propping her body and the other still busy below the beltline, turning him on more and more.

"Who?" he groaned.

Cuddy smiled against his belly. "The convulsing guy," she reminded him.

"Oh, yeah… 'Twitchy,'" House murmured. "We're… thinking… Moersch… Woltman… syndrome," he said between labored breaths as Cuddy kissed down his body. "We started… immuno… suppressants."

"_We_ started immuno-suppressants?" she teased, right before running her tongue along the length of him. House's hips pushed up and a half-sigh half-moan answered her.

"I'm hard at work," he retorted, though his voice sounded a little like he was in pain. "Supervising… them… The kids…" Cuddy's mouth was around him now and he couldn't even think anymore. She loved actually being able to shut him up.

House's brain was turning to molasses because all he could focus on was what Cuddy was doing with her mouth. He had come home because he liked being around her on her day off, and had half-hoped for some afternoon "nap sex," but this was more than he had dared to expect. He lay there being transported to a far-off happy place, feeling her nails lightly scratch his stomach, then felt the familiar tension mounting deep inside of him.

"You need to stop," he said suddenly. "I can't believe I'm saying that, but I am. If you don't, you'll have woken up for nothing. Then every time I come home on a Sunday you'll think I'm expecting this. Then you'll start resenting it. It will be bad," he explained in a tumult of words. Cuddy looked up at him, smiling.

"You're nuts," she said.

"I'm not. I know women," he retorted.

"You know _crazy _women," she rebutted.

"There's another kind?" he asked.

"Shut up before I stop wanting to do you," she scolded as she crawled up his body, somehow using yogic skills to slip out of her yoga pants on the way up. House looked over her shoulder to unabashedly stare at her lace-covered ass, sticking out below the hem of her tee shirt. Cuddy craned her neck to follow his gaze.

"Stare all you want," she told him. "It will never stop being awesome," she joked.

"I can't figure out if it's the height or the width," he told her, still staring, but now with a furrowed brow. "Maybe it's the way it curves into your thighs…"

She looked at him with a half grin. ""All of the above," she replied. "It's how it all comes together."

He nodded in agreement. "Your ass is a Gestalt," he summarized.

"You and the poetry again," she said before covering his mouth with her own, sliding her tongue between his lips. House put one hand in her hair, trying to gain a foothold back in this sexual duel she was winning, sliding the other hand down to her ass to fumble with her panties. He sucked at her bottom lip and kicked his pants all the way off, losing some of his former patience due to her oral attentions. He got her panties halfway down her thighs and then slid a hand between her legs, causing Cuddy to gasp and arch her back, pushing her belly into his. "God, House," escaped her lips and it was, as always, the best moment of his day. His fingers felt her wetness and he used his other hand to, finally, slide her tee shirt up her torso and over her head, revealing her in all her bra-less glory. Her hands were pressed on his chest and her head was thrown back and she was so fricking beautiful he couldn't stand it. He put a hand on each hip and with one careful but precise motion he was inside of her, losing the battle with his eyelids as the pleasure pulled them down despite his desire to keep staring at her. Through closed eyes he felt her tightness around him. He slid his hands along her skin, up her ribs, down the mound of her ass, along her thighs, trying to comprehend how softness like this existed.

Cuddy had regained her senses a little and was re-focused on driving him wild. She used her thigh muscles, tensing under his palms, and slid so slowly along him, her hands over his hands, keeping them from taking control over the pace of this. She looked down at his face, eyes alternating between staring up and down her body and falling closed, mouth half open as he breathed heavily. She continued moving on him, excruciatingly slowly. She saw his pulse racing in his neck and wondered if only doctors noticed things like that. The calloused pads of his fingers pressed into her thighs and his breath grew shakier. "God, Cuddy, please" he whispered. "I need you."

House on the edge of an orgasm. It didn't get better than this. It was the amazing juxtaposition of manliness – complete consumption with sexual need – and vulnerability – saying and doing whatever came to mind right then without a censor. Cuddy lifted her hands off his, giving him permission to circle her hips, taking over more of the steering. Her hands skated across his stomach and it was her turn to close her eyes and just feel. His hands pressing into her butt, his thumbs on her hip bones. Her body coiling up like a spring around him. His eyes devouring her like they always did – Yes, she could feel his eyes. Had for years.

House sat up suddenly and pulled her against him, burying his face in her neck. His hands were holding her back and they moved together, finding this perfect rhythm. Cuddy looked down at him and their mouths just grazed each other, their breaths mingling as they both almost forgot to inhale. She pressed her forehead against his and he slid one hand up her body to the back of her neck, his thumb stroking the little indentation at her hairline. His other hand pressed her to him still. Cuddy put her hands on either side of his face, loving every line of his eyes as he squeezed them shut in anticipation.

The strangest thing pushed her over. He'd lowered his face to her shoulder, and she'd continued to move her hips over his. Then she felt his eyelashes on her skin when he blinked, and a puff of his breath wafted over her breast. His humanity struck her right then. He was crazy and loud and bravado-over-sentimentality most of the time. But he was flesh and bone that breathed and blinked and wanted her more than anything. And the feeling of his back muscles under her hands, his hair tickling her chin, his body inside of her – she just couldn't take anything more. She fell back a bit, propping herself on her hands and met his eyes the instant before she came and had to close them. One of his hands slid from her throat down her sternum to her belly, feeling all her muscles spasm beneath her skin. Then his other gripped her thigh and he followed her, pushing up into her with abandon and feeling her bear down on his every thrust. He felt himself biting his lip so hard he wondered if he'd broken the skin.

Then they were trembling statues, frozen in place as their physical releases settled, their muscles shaking slightly from the work of it, their chests heaving as they tried to get more oxygen. House wrapped an arm around Cuddy's back and pulled her to him as he fell back onto the couch again, her head on his chest. She heard his heart thudding in her ear.

"Sorry for wrecking your nap," he quipped.

"No, you aren't," she pointed out.

"You're right," he admitted, smiling at the ceiling and letting his eyelids drift shut. He tickled her back absentmindedly, but she noticed his fingers slowing to a rest after a couple of minutes and knew he was drifting off.

"You need to go back work," Cuddy reminded him.

"There you go, with the ole 'wham bam, thank you House' routine," House retorted through closed eyes.

"Or stay," she said, snuggling her legs up around him, "I don't care."

"I might remind you that you're my boss," House replied. "You're supposed to care."

"I know," she sighed, "But I just blame all my bad boss behavior on your bad influence and then I don't feel so guilty about it."

House's phone rang. He groaned in complaint and reached down to his jeans pocket and pulled it out. He opened it and, without a greeting or waiting for the caller to say a word, said, "I'll be there in 15," and closed it an instant later. After a few beats of staring into space, he exhaled and sat up. Cuddy wiggled off his lap and tossed him his underwear. He begrudgingly swung his legs off of the couch. "How's Rach?" he asked as he began dressing, rubbing his scarred thigh a little. "How was the park?" Cuddy sighed heavily. "Oh, sorry," he said, standing up and pulling up his pants. "Didn't mean to bring up such a stressful topic. Swings. Balls. It's a warzone."

"That awful mother was there," Cuddy said, ignoring his teasing. She leaned her head back against the couch and rubbed her temples.

"Why do you even talk to her?" House asked, sitting down to put his shoes back on.

"I don't," Cuddy protested. "She's aggressive. She went out of her way to give me a hard time."

House stopped and looked at Cuddy. "Gave you a hard time about what?" he asked.

Cuddy sighed again and flopped back on the couch. "Her awful daughter went up to Rachel and took this little plastic shovel. Right out of her hands!" Cuddy exclaimed. "And before I even got over there, Rachel went and pushed her and took it back." House laughed. "It's not funny, House. The mom went ballistic and started scolding Rachel. Hell, she was scolding _me_, telling me I need to teach my daughter to 'use her words' or something like that."

"'_Use her words_?'" House repeated. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It's crazy-uber-mom talk for, like, talking," Cuddy said, laughing a little.

"Did you tell her to tell her daughter to get her own damn shovel?" House asked, getting defensive on Rachel's behalf.

"I didn't really say anything. It all happened so fast and this woman wouldn't shut up. She's worse than you," Cuddy said, poking him with her big toe. "And she's always there – whatever time we go. I just want to avoid her. So I said something dumb and just got Rachel and left."

"What the hell, Cuddy?" House said, staring at her is disbelief. "Does someone remove your spine when you enter a playground?" he asked.

"What did you expect me to do?" Cuddy said, fishing around for her clothes on the couch and floor.

"I dunno, something," House replied. "Since when are you able to be intimidated by anyone? Especially some idiot who says things like 'use your words'?" he asked her.

Cuddy just looked at him. "What?" he asked.

"You don't understand," Cuddy protested.

"What, that you can fire people, outwit insurance reps, and run a fucking hospital but can't talk back to a random park mom?" he asked.

"House, I don't always know what I'm doing," Cuddy said. "Maybe she's right."

"What?" he exclaimed. "Right about how her kid can take our kid's shovel and not have any repercussions?"

"These women read parenting books and blog about being moms. They have lingo like 'use your words.'" Cuddy explained. "At the hospital, I know that I know what I'm doing," she continued. "As a mom… I'm not always so sure," she confessed.

House's phone rang again. He picked it up and continued staring at Cuddy. "Yeah," he said gruffly. Cuddy looked back at him in the silence of the living room, wondering what he was thinking. "I'm coming." He hung up. "Patient's spiking a fever," he informed Cuddy.

House stood and picked his jacket up off the floor and turned back to the half-dressed Cuddy half-reclined on the couch. He bent and kissed her forehead. "You are an excellent Dean of Medicine, an excellent performer of oral sex, and an excellent mother," he said, nose to nose with her. "The perfect woman," he concluded. "And if you don't know that by now, there's no helping you." He stood back up and started toward the door.

"I love that she got her shovel back," Cuddy called out from behind him, smiling.

House smiled to himself. "Hard to believe it's not genetic, eh?" he called, walking out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"It's not Moersch-Woltman," Chase said as House walked in.

"Oh thank God!" House exclaimed, tossing his backpack into his office. The team looked at him confused. "If it was and you had me come back here I'd fire all of you," he explained. He walked to the white board and added "fever" to the list of symptoms.

"Multiple sclerosis?" Taub tossed out.

"The MRI showed no lesions" Foreman countered.

"Tetanus," Forman suggested as House made himself a cup of coffee.

"He's been vaccinated," Taub said.

"Vaccines can fail," Foreman pushed, "And he was vaccinated precisely because his job puts him at risk. Animal control officers are bitten and scratched all the time."

"He hasn't been bitten recently," Taub insisted.

"It doesn't have to be a puncture wound," Foreman protested. "A deep wound is all the bacteria need to get in."

"And he is around animals constantly," Chase offered.

"It could be a metabolic myopathy," Chase suggested.

"Good thought, Chase," House complimented. "You can run those ten labs while Foreman and Taub share the tetanus test." The team was half-standing to go run more tests when House continued, "_Except_… We don't need to because it's Moersch-Woltman." They all sat back down. "Don't worry, I won't fire you."

"Fevers don't present with Moersch-Woltman," Chase reminded him.

"No, but they do when someone is sick," House explained.

The team was silent. "We _know_ he's sick, House," Foreman ventured.

"We knew he was sick but we didn't know he _got_ sick," House corrected. They stared at him, trying to follow. "Who has visited him recently? Everyone hale and hearty?"

"His co-worker was here yesterday and had a cold," Taub recalled.

"His co-worker _brought_ a cold," House corrected, "And this morning we started immuno-suppressants. The fever isn't a symptom," House said, wiping it from the white board.

"The virus got in and his defenses were being inhibited," Foreman murmured, understanding.

"And without defenses, the common cold gets to bully his way around the playground-" House trailed off, a look of realization dawning on his face. "Stop the immuno-suppressants, wait for the cold to clear up, then restart to confirm," House said, grabbing his cane, looking at his watch, and walking out the door.

Taub looked at Foreman. "Did he just have a reverse epiphany?" he asked.

"It's been rumored to happen," Foreman said. "Cameron saw one once."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

House sat on the playground bench, observing. He knew he probably appeared to be a pedophile, but this was worth it. He pretended to read a magazine to at least appear disinterested. He watched the kids and moms come and go, looking for a bully of either age.

Within the hour, he knew he'd found her. The loud-mouth mom was gabbing to various other mothers, offering plenty of unsolicited advice, while her kid ran amok on the playground, interfering with other kids' activities. He listened carefully and, sure enough, when her daughter came over hysterical about something, the mother marched over to another mother and began lecturing her on parenting skills.

After a bit longer, when she had alienated all the other mothers away, the mom sat alone on a bench, digging through a diaper bag. House got up and limped by, twirling his cane as he passed and hooking her purse to pull it to him nonchalantly.

"Hey!" the mother shouted. "Hey!"

House didn't look back, but just limped faster towards the park gates. The woman rushed up behind him and shoved him, shouting, "Give me my purse, you bastard!"

House turned at met her eyes, a menacing look on his face. "Careful, lady, you're assaulting a cripple here."

"You stole my purse!" she yelled, grabbing for it, but House held it out of reach and, once face-to-face, the woman's adrenaline wasn't enough to keep her aggressive in spite of her fear of who the hell this guy was.

"So I wanted it," House informed her. "No need to get violent. Didn't your mother teach you to use your words?" he asked.

The woman paused suddenly and studied him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"That's what _I_ said," House commiserated. "Someone steals something that's yours and you're supposed to 'use your words' to get it back?"

"What are you getting at, asshole?" the woman asked, no longer afraid, but realizing she was being harassed.

House stepped toward her, dropping her purse at her feet and talking to her in a low voice. "I'm getting at the fact that you need to teach your kid to keep her hands off other kids' stuff, or she'll get what's coming to her. They're allowed to defend themselves," he said. "And, you need to quit lecturing other mothers about how to raise their kids, at least until you've raised one that isn't a tyrant," he added, nodding toward the woman's awful child who was watching from the playground. House leaned in a little further. "So go on home and tell all your friends about the nutjob on the playground today," he advised, "But know that if my baby mama tells me about you giving her a hard time again, this is the tip of a nutjob iceberg, lady. Trust me, I can provide a list of references."

He turned then and began walking towards the gate again.

"Who the hell is your kid anyway?" the woman yelled belligerently.

"I've had a pretty Casanova decade," House called back. "Assume they all are." He reached his motorcycle and got on to drive off, never looking back at the woman who stood gaping at his back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 **

"Tomorrow I am hanging out in my underwear all day and burping and scratching and bossing you around," House groused the following Saturday night.

"You're still a man, House," Cuddy chided. She was reclined on the couch with her feet in his lap. He was painting her toenails while Rachel straddled Cuddy's belly and got her fingernails painted by her mom.

"Cuddy, I feel my balls shrinking as we speak," House replied.

"Too bad," Cuddy commented without looking up. "Rachel and I need a manly escort to the park tomorrow."

House paused, then caught himself. "What for?"

"Apparently there's some guy harassing the mothers and stealing purses," she explained, furrowing her brow as she carefully painted Rachel's pinky nail. "There are flyers posted in the park."

"Don't worry," House said, "You're a pretty tough chick. No one's gonna mess with you."

"I'm not worried," Cuddy reassured him. "He's got a bum leg, so I could probably take him." House stopped painting and looked up at Cuddy, trying to keep his expression blank. Cuddy didn't meet his eyes but couldn't stop the smirk from spreading across her face. "Apparently," she continued, "He has a cane and rides a motorcycle."

Silence.

House turned back to her feet. "Sounds like a pretty bad-ass guy," he observed. Cuddy laughed in spite of herself.

"Yeah, maybe I should be more alarmed," she agreed. She started blowing on Rachel's nails, keeping her there in spite of the child's belief that once the paint was on, it was playtime.

House finished and looked at Cuddy as he screwed the cap back on. "How'd you get so good at blowin'?" Cuddy just gave him the evil eye. He leaned forward and grabbed his video game controller and unpaused his game.

"I told you not to play this stuff when Rachel is around," Cuddy scolded as Rachel craned her neck to watch the animated decimation of grotesque creatures.

"She's about to go to bed," House replied in his absorbed-in-the-game monotone.

"Exactly!" Cuddy exclaimed between puffs on Rachel's nails. "So just wait ten minutes."

"That's not what I want to do when Rachel is in bed," House replied, still looking at the television but arching an eyebrow in suggestion. Cuddy sighed and swung Rachel to the floor, carefully swiveling her toes out of House's lap and standing up.

"Come on, Rach. Bedtime," she announced.

Rachel stood and walked over to House, holding her nails out for display in front of him. "Look, House," she ordered.

House paused the game and looked down at her nails. "Gorgeous," he assessed and Rachel beamed. "Your mom does such a good job. Tell her she should paint her _own_ toes." Rachel just blinked at him, still smiling.

"Let's go, sugar," Cuddy said, scooping Rachel up and padding down the hall. House continued his game while he heard Cuddy getting Rachel changed and washed up for bed. He was making some good progress when something soft hit him in the face and fell to his lap. He looked down at Cuddy's wrinkled shirt. He looked up to catch just a glimpse of her bare back disappearing down the hall.

Game paused.

House walked to the bedroom, taking care to stretch out his leg that was cramped from too much sitting, and walked in to find a half-naked Cuddy lying on the bed. "Want me to help you feel like a man again?" she joked.

House eagerly clambered on top of her.

"Watch my toes!" she warned.

"I'll repaint them," he assured her, burying his face in her neck. Cuddy smiled at the ceiling as she curled up a little from the tickling of his beard on her skin. She fumbled around, trying to unbutton his shirt. House pushed up on one arm and reached back to the collar of his shirt with his other hand, pulling it over his head and efficiently removing his arms. Cuddy felt his bare chest against hers and sighed contentedly. House took his hands and swept her hair back, holding her face and looking at her.

"Are you mad?" he asked with a half-grin.

"About what?" Cuddy asked, her smile being replaced with a suspicious look.

"About the park."

Cuddy grinned again. "No!" she assured. "I know you don't like going to the park. I just thought if you'd come tomorrow maybe you and this creep could have a bike race and cane fight or something. Like a biathlon." She smirked up at him. He kissed the tip of her nose. "Anyway, I know why you _really _did it."

"Why's that?" he asked, kissing down her chest to her breasts. Cuddy moved her hands to the back of his head.

"Because now I can never nag you to go to the park with us again."

"You got me nailed, woman," he said, just before his tongue moved across her nipple silenced the snarking and causing Cuddy to arch up and close her eyes, forgetting the entire conversation. House slid his hand up her thigh, pulling her leg around his hip and sliding his hand back to her ass, sneaking up the back of her shorts. Cuddy's hand moved maniacally around his head, neck, shoulders, and back. She wanted him everywhere at once. House's mouth on her breast was driving her insane, but she wanted to kiss him, wanted to taste him, wanted his mouth everywhere else too.

"God, House," she half-sighed, half-moaned. House moved back up her neck, kissing her chin, then her mouth, his tongue parting her lips. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled onto his back, so she lay on top of him. Their eyes met under the canopy of her hair surrounding their faces and House gently bit her bottom lip, then used his jaw to urge her head back so he could kiss down her chin and neck again. His hands slid slowly down her back, taking in the softness of her skin. He hooked his thumbs into her waistband and pulled her shorts down her hips. Cuddy lifted her pelvis and assisted, wiggling them down her legs so that she was naked on top of him. Then she bent her knees and sat up, straddling him, whipping her hair back from her face. He looked at her, up and down her body, with such appreciation it made her blush a little.

"God, Cuddy," he echoed, his hands resting on her pelvis as his thumbs slid up and down her hipbones. He locked eyes with her and smiled his little half smile and she had to look away – the deep blue intensity of that look overwhelming her. She looked down at her hands, undoing his jeans so she could slide them down his legs. She gently smacked his side, prompting him to lift his hips so she could take his pants off, and he used the gesture to push her hips down, pushing himself up against her before she could even finish the job. Her head spun and she quickly placed her hands against his chest, steadying herself. This was going so good, so fast; her blood and breathing weren't keeping up.

House somehow kicked and wormed his jeans off, and only his boxers were separating them. Cuddy bent and lay across his chest, her lips against his cheek, trying to chill out for a second. The hot puffs of breath across his face made House almost _want_ to make her faint – he loved when she was as hot for him as this, fighting the urge to just get at it the way he fought it every time he was in the same room with her. He had one arm hooked under hers and bent it to hold her head against him. With his other hand, he quickly shimmied his underwear down and then grabbed her waist, guiding her against him. He turned his head to face her, eyes glassy, lips parted, never more gorgeous. He moved his lips slowly along hers as he guided himself inside of her. A tiny whimper came from her throat, then she pushed down, meeting his slow, intentional thrusts up into her. He moved his fingers in her hair, clenching and unclenching them, just to feel more of her. His other hand skated up and down her side, her ass, her thigh. They moved like that, slowly and torturously, until Cuddy couldn't take it anymore.

"House," she murmured against his lips.

"Hmm?"

"You need to fuck me now or I'm going to tell everyone you did my pedicure," she whispered, panting a little.

"If you do that," he retorted quietly, "I'll make sure to meet you and Rachel at the park tomorrow." Cuddy smiled under closed eyes. "I'll ride up on my motorcycle and hobble over to you with my cane," he continued, gently rolling her over onto her back, "And I'll lay a big wet one on ya." Cuddy hung her arms around his neck, waiting, dying for the next level of this. "No need for the empty threats, Cuddy."

"Okay, okay. Then just… you need to fuck me now."

House nodded, satisfied. "Perfect. Much less belligerent." He kissed her and she wrapped both legs around his waist. House rocked his hips against hers, feeling her more deeply, which was making _his_ head start to spin. He slid his hands up her arms and gently pushed her hands above her head, then assaulted her lips with his own. Their fingers intertwined and Cuddy felt that erotic sensation that only House had ever given her – the hotness of relinquishing control to someone who she knew would hand it right back if necessary. His chest pushed against hers, his face – half-drunk with lust – was all she could see. She felt his breath, smelled his skin, and sensed his body against every inch of hers.

House felt Cuddy's heels press into his back as she lifted her pelvis, guiding him deeper inside of her. He felt her all around him, smelled her hair and her lip gloss – even her sweat smelled awesome. He felt her body starting to bear down, her thighs squeezing against his hips, her soft layers clamping around him, and he disentangled their hands to sit up and hold her hips. He wanted to make it awesome for her and he wanted to watch.

Cuddy's eyes squeezed shut and her expression alternated between ecstasy and agony as she teetered on the edge. She was mind-blowingly beautiful. Her hands gripped the sheets. Her head sank back further, displaying her neck. House stared at her face as her mouth went from biting her bottom lip to gaping open, her eyebrows knitting together as she was rocked by her orgasm. He was holding her body in his hands, feeling it tremble, and trying to wrap his mind around her perfection when "House" emerged in this quiet, high-pitched whine from her lips.

He was done for.

House bent his head, almost reverently, and closed his eyes as he felt himself lose control. His breathing was erratic and his movements into her became frenzied. He couldn't resist this feeling, anymore than he could resist this woman. He felt her body around him, heard her continue to say his name, and saw stars behind his eyelids.

Neither of them could even take a guess how long it had lasted – a minute, an hour? Their pleasure had blended together and blurred time into a stream of sensation and emotion. But eventually, they stilled and House curled down over her, resting his forehead on her stomach, noting the ebb and flow of her breath, while she played with the hair on the back of his neck.

"Thanks," he mumbled into her belly.

Cuddy smiled, still with her eyes half-closed. "Have your balls returned to their manly size?" she murmured.

House snickered and crawled back up her body, flopping on his stomach next to her and splaying and arm and leg across her possessively. "I can't feel anything below my waist at the moment, but I'll keep you posted," he answered. "If not, we can just keep doing that until my manhood has been fully restored."

Cuddy turned to look at his face, relaxed and happy next to her. His eyes were closed and she studied every bend of his jaw and brow, the tiny veins of his eyelids, every gray and brown whisker. Could you love a whisker? Was that possible?

"Stop staring at me Cuddy," House ordered without opening his eyes. She responded by continuing to stare and putting hand against his cheek, feeling his warm roughness.

"Thanks for being a park weirdo for me," she said. He grinned a sleepy smile.

"I have no idea what you are referring to. I am far too busy saving lives to spend time in a park." Cuddy kissed him softly on his lips. "Tell me if you or Rachel get harassed again," he told her.

"Greg House, you're my hero," Cuddy sang in a teasing voice. House made a production of sighing an exaggerated happy sigh of relief. "What was that about?" Cuddy asked.

House grinned. "I just got my balls back."


End file.
